


Behind This Mask (I Stand Here Waiting)

by flipflop_diva



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Divergence - Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Cunnilingus, Drinking, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Multiple Orgasms, Object Insertion, References to Depression, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:55:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24575659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipflop_diva/pseuds/flipflop_diva
Summary: With the mask on, no one could tell she had been crying. At least that’s what Daphne said when Hermione showed her the costume she’d picked out for the Masquerade Ball that night.“Maybe you can get laid tonight, too,” Daphne had said. “Just pick the hottest looking girl and let her bonk you right there on the dance floor.”
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson
Comments: 9
Kudos: 147
Collections: Femmefest 2020





	Behind This Mask (I Stand Here Waiting)

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for the all the writers, artists, commentators and lurkers of Femmefest 2020!

With the mask on, no one could tell she had been crying. At least that’s what Daphne said when Hermione showed her the costume she’d picked out for the Masquerade Ball that night. She hadn’t wanted to go, but everyone else seemed to be going, and Daphne had insisted they attend too. Hermione just hadn’t had the energy to argue against it.

She also hadn’t bothered saying anything after Daphne’s comment, but Daphne apparently hadn’t needed her to.

“Maybe you can get laid tonight, too,” she’d said. “Just pick the hottest looking girl and let her bonk you right there on the dance floor.”

When Hermione had frowned at her, Daphne has brushed off her concerns with an airy wave of her hand. 

“It will make you feel better,” she said. Then the smirk dropped off her face, at least for a few seconds. “You deserve to feel better, Hermione,” she said, then added. “Don’t you want the Weasleys to see you being happy?”

Hermione still didn’t answer. It wasn’t Ginny’s fault they hadn’t worked out. It wasn’t for lack of trying on Ron’s and Harry’s parts that they all still weren’t best friends.

Something had changed inside her those few awful days, trapped in Malfoy Manor at the whims of Bellatrix Lestrange. She never wanted to feel that helpless again, that lost, yet every time she looked in a mirror, that night was all she could see.

Bellatrix’s face as she laughed at her. The blood dripping down her arm where they marked her. 

She remembered all the frantic spells in her head she had tried during those awful, awful days, all the magic she had concentrated on summoning, but none of it had worked. So much pain. So much terror. And then the acceptance that she was going to die, that they were going to kill her.

But yet she hadn’t died, and now she was here, messed up and miserable and somehow living with Daphne Greengrass because she couldn’t bear to see the pity on the faces of the people who used to be her friends. Who used to be her girlfriend.

She sighed. Maybe Daphne was right. Maybe she did just need a quick shag to feel better.

•••

The Ministry’s Masquerade Ball was impressive. Every room was almost pitch black, lit by a few well-placed candles floating in the air. The ceilings and floors were covered in sparkly sequins — pinks and silvers and golds. The walls were draped in black velvet.

Waiters and waitresses walked around while trays overflowing with food hovered in the air beside them. As soon as someone would remove an item from the tray, another identical one would appear to replace it.

Other waiters and waitresses walked next to trays of drinks. Some billowing smoke. Some changing colors. Wines and whiskeys and butterbeers and everything else under the sun.

Hermione had two drinks — a neon blue one that tasted a little like bubble gum and a glass of champagne — before she even made it into the main room.

There were bodies everywhere, but none she could recognize. Women wore long colorful dresses and men had on suits with ties that changed color. Everyone had on masks that covered their eyes and most of their faces.

Hermione let herself wander into the crowd. The drinks made her feel a little like she was floating, all the thoughts in her brain suddenly a bit out of her reach. It was nice, to just be free, to just be.

She danced with as many people as she could, letting herself get lost in the music. She drank more colorful drinks and didn’t think about anything outside of this place.

She ended up in the arms of a woman in a deep purple dress beaded in black, with a mask that matched almost perfectly. She could tell the woman had dark hair, but she didn’t try to see more than that. This woman was strong and powerful, spinning Hermione around the room until all the colors began to spin and Hermione began to laugh.

“Should we have some fun?” the woman whispered into Hermione’s ear, and she nodded.

“Yes, please!” she breathed, because the offer of fun sounded like the greatest offer she had ever had.

They were in a corner of a room, tucked a little away from other people, but no one would have been paying them any attention even if they had been close.

The woman dropped her hands, from where they had been holding Hermione around the waist, sliding up under her dress, and suddenly Hermione felt her knickers being tugged, and then they were somehow just gone, and a finger was between her legs.

Hermione shifted and closed her eyes. The woman didn’t waste time. She was rubbing her with long, gentle strokes, and Hermione could feel herself almost opening up. It had been so long since she had been touched, and with her mind still cloudy from the drinks, every sensation seemed amplified. She was already bouncing on her feet, thrusting her hips in time with the woman’s motions, small moans escaping her mouth as she swayed.

She felt something — an arm probably — wrap around her back and pull her closer. She wanted to tuck her head against the woman’s shoulder, let the world spin as the woman stroked her, but before she could, there were lips against hers, pressing against her, hard and almost rough. Hermione found she didn’t mind. She gave back as good as she got, lifting her own hands to the back of the woman’s head and tugging on her hair.

The woman added a second finger between Hermione’s legs, and Hermione shifted, widening her stance. A thumb brushed over her clit.

She almost fell. But the arm around her kept her upright. She mewled instead, directly into the woman’s mouth as they kept snogging. But then she felt a finger slip inside her, and Hermione had to break the kiss, throwing her head back to moan.

The woman’s hand was working her, fingers fucking her cunt, a thumb scraping over her clit, lips biting down on the area between her neck and her shoulder.

Hermione moaned, screamed, writhed.

Maybe the whole party heard. Maybe they didn’t.

Colors swirled around, lights exploded in front of her face, and then she was whimpering, collapsing onto the woman as her body shook and her muscles stopped working.

She wasn’t sure how but she somehow found herself next in a fancy white bathroom, propped up on the counter, her dress hiked up above her waist, the woman she had been dancing with holding her legs apart as she fucked her with her wand and then her mouth and then her wand again.

Hermione exploded, over and over, waves of pleasure tearing her apart as her body shook almost non-stop and screams left her throat.

She didn’t know how many times she had come or if anyone might have seen or heard, but right then she didn’t care.

All she cared was how free, how happy, she finally felt.

•••

Daphne got her home and into bed. She remembered that. Daphne wrapping a coat around her and ushering her out the door. Daphne commanding her to hold on to her as she turned them around, and they disappeared into nothingness. Daphne tucking her into bed with a soft kiss on her forehead and telling her she was glad she had fun.

Hermione woke hours later, her body sore in the best way and her mind clear once more. Immediately, she felt a rush of panic overcome her.

She found Daphne in the kitchen, frying up a batch of eggs.

“Okay, I need you to tell me I didn’t do what I think I did!” Hermione said the second she saw her. Her body felt warm, and this time it wasn’t from any colorful drink.

Daphne cast a glance at her. “Had fun?” she said. “Relaxed? Smiled for the first time since we moved in together? Got laid?”

Hermione cursed. 

“I work with those people,” she moaned. What had she been thinking? What had she let Daphne talk her into? She had never had a one-night stand in her life, had never wanted to, but yet she had let someone she probably worked with fuck her in the middle of the dance floor.

“No one knows it was you,” Daphne pointed out. She sounded way too calm for how Hermione was feeling.

Daphne pointed to Hermione’s hair, and Hermione reached up, picking up one of the blonde strands lying over her shoulder. Smooth and straight. Carefully magicked over a period of three hours the day before, to purposely make sure her identity wasn’t revealed.

“No one knows,” Daphne said again. She shrugged. “Besides, I saw a lot of action on that dance floor last night. You were not the only one.”

Hermione nodded to herself. Daphne had a point. There was no way anyone could have known. She hadn’t told anyone she was even going. She certainly hadn’t shown anyone her outfit apart from Daphne.

Her face flushed again with the memory of last night. She had let that woman do things to her no one else had ever done.

She shook her head and focused on Daphne and what she was saying.

“So,” she said casually. “Did _you_ get some action on the dance floor?”

A smirk was the only answer Hermione got.

•••

Daphne had been right. Again. As far as Hermione could tell, no one knew it had been her. 

The Masquerade Ball was the only thing people were talking about Monday morning, but for as much as Hermione listened, she never heard her name mentioned nor heard anyone talking about a blonde girl being shagged on the dance floor and then in the bathroom.

She heard tales of other people shagging and of the couple who ran out on to the dance floor in the buff, but nothing about anything that could lead back to her.

A few people asked her if she attended and she told them she had, commented on the décor so they would know she was being honest, and then just said she left early. They seemed to take her word for it.

Really, the only even slightly odd happening Monday morning was Pansy Parkinson greeting her as she passed her in the hallway.

“Hello, Granger,” she said, and actually smiled.

Hermione stared after her, her short dark hair bouncing around her head.

_Short, dark hair._

Hermione shook her head. No, that was impossible. Pansy didn’t even go to the ball. She had been telling people all morning she’d had more important things to do.

•••

It was Daphne — unsurprisingly — who brought up the idea of hosting their own Masquerade Party in their flat.

“You want to have a party … here?” Hermione questioned.

It had been three weeks since the last one, but people did seem to be still talking about it.

“Why not?” Daphne grinned. “You don’t want to find your mystery lady again?”

Hermione tried not to flush. She wondered if it was that obvious that she couldn’t stop thinking about that night. Couldn’t stop dreaming about it. The days that used to be filled with pain and tears were now filled with a weird sort of longing for someone she didn’t even know.

“What if she doesn’t show?”

“Oh, she will,” Daphne said, but at Hermione’s frown, she laughed. “Or you can shag someone else. Who cares, right?”

•••

Hermione looked more like herself in her outfit for her and Daphne’s party. She had on a pair of Muggle jeans, a revealing blue top and a matching blue mask that covered her eyes. She had straightened her hair, with Daphne’s help, but it was the same brown it always was.

At this party, there would be no hiding, and she didn’t want anyone to connect her to the blonde woman she had been at the Ministry’s ball.

She and Daphne had spent hours working on the decorations, to match what the Ministry had done, and preparing the food and the drinks. It wasn’t as fancy as the Ministry, but no one seemed to mind. 

Right from the beginning, there was laughter and smiles and so many people telling her and Daphne what an amazing party it was. It was hard to be sad or disappointed, but even with so many people filling every inch of their flat, Hermione didn’t see the one person she really wanted to see.

Until out of nowhere, there she was. Standing before Hermione in the same deep purple dress beaded in black, with the same mask that matched almost perfectly. Her short dark hair was tucked behind her ears, and she beckoned to Hermione with a waggle of her finger.

Hermione hesitated for just a moment. It was warm in their flat, the music beating loudly (but properly magicked so as not to bother their neighbors). Bodies spun by her, some dancing, some going at it.

She had only had one drink this time, enough to make her inhibitions lower than normal but not enough that she was floating like last time.

She remembered that night, the feelings that had coursed through her. 

She could have that again. Right here. One more night of being free, of not caring that the rest of her life was a bloody mess.

Decision made, she moved toward the woman in the purple. Instantly, purple-covered hands came up to press against her cheeks, drawing her face nearer.

The woman’s breath smelled of Firewhisky and something cinnamon. She pressed her lips to Hermione’s, and Hermione felt her knees tremble, a heat unlike almost anything else soaring from her mouth, down her body, spreading out through her whole being.

She wrapped her arms around the woman, one hand tangled in her dark hair, and snogged her back like she needed the woman’s taste to breath.

They kissed for minutes, or maybe hours, and by the time Hermione came up for air, she felt almost dizzy.

The woman pushed her backward, just enough, and soon Hermione found herself stumbling down her hallway, and then they were in her darkened room and the woman was pushing Hermione backward on to her own bed.

One small candle that Hermione hadn’t remembered leaving on flickered in the corner, casting drops of light over the woman’s face as she dropped to her knees at the end of the bed, reaching her Hermione and tugging her so her arse was balanced at the end of the mattress, her legs hanging over.

“I’ve been imagining this moment so much the last few weeks,” the woman murmured, her voice husky and low. Hermione had the impression she was trying to hide what she really sounded like, but it was hard to care as the woman pointed her wand at Hermione’s jeans and the button undid itself and the zipper slid down.

Hermione lifted her arse and the woman waved her wand again, causing Hermione’s jeans to slide easily down her legs and disappear somewhere behind her.

The woman put her wand down and reached out to place her hands on the inside of Hermione’s thighs, pushing them apart.

“This part I like to do myself,” she said, in that same low, husky voice, and then she reached out a finger, pressing it against Hermione and drawing a line from the top of the crotch of her knickers to the bottom.

Hermione’s hips bucked as the woman retraced her line, moving backward this time, and then going down again, and then she was moaning softly as the woman began rubbing her, sometimes soft and slow and other times harder and faster.

Hermione dropped her head back against the bed, closing her eyes, relishing in the moment. Pleasure was building deep within her as the woman rubbed her, over and over, until finally, Hermione felt her knickers being pushed to the side, and then there was the feel of a warm finger pressed directly against her, no fabric in the way.

Hermione moaned more, tilting her hips up and trying to spread her legs wider, but her legs didn’t seem to need any help. They were moving on their own — probably by magic — and soon she was lying, legs spread almost as wide as she could get them, knees bent, tilted back so they were almost lined up with her hips.

She opened her eyes just a crack to see the woman smirk at her — almost in the same way Daphne did — and then bend down. 

Hermione felt a tongue press against her, and her whole body — or at least the part she could move — jerked.

She had never had someone go down on her like this woman. Her tongue seemed to be magic all of its own, filling her and drawing out her pleasure. Hermione moaned and whimpered as the woman’s tongue touched her and tasted her and sucked on her, and then her fingers — first one, then a second, and then a third — found their way inside her.

Hermione’s cries were coming faster now, louder, her whole upper half jerking and shaking as the woman thrust her fingers deep inside her, over and over. She felt like she was running to the edge of a cliff, pleasure she had never experienced waiting just on the other side of the drop.

The woman’s fingers kept moving, her tongue kept licking, and Hermione kept thrashing against the bed, against the woman, and then — finally — something — a thumbnail maybe — scratched across her clit and a soft voice ordered “Come for me,” and she was, screaming as her body shuddered violently and pleasure soared over her and her vagina dripped fluid down the woman’s arm.

She collapsed against the bed when it was over, her body feeling like it was on high alert.

“I just need a moment,” she mumbled, and the woman laughed.

“Take all the time you need.”

•••

Hermione woke the next morning to sun pouring through her window. She blinked and tried to remember what had happened the night before.

Oh. Yes. Right.

She remembered standing in front of the wall-length mirror, watching as the woman fingered her and made her come. She remembered sitting on the woman’s masked face, letting her taste her as she fucked her.

She remembered exploring the woman’s body, being the one who finally made the woman scream as her thighs clamped around Hermione’s head.

Hermione sighed at the memories before rolling over.

She screamed.

Lying on the other side of her bed, sound asleep, was none other than Daphne’s best friend and Hermione’s Hogwarts enemy — Pansy Parkinson.

Pansy’s eyes shot open at her scream.

“Please, Granger,” she grumbled. “I’m not awake enough for this.”

Hermione’s eyes raked over Pansy’s naked body. Even if she hadn’t recognized every area of skin she had spent hours exploring, she would more than recognize the deep purple dress and matching mask lying crumpled on the floor.

“It was you?” she whispered, in horror.

Pansy was almost asleep again. “Who did you think it was?”

“Daphne’s going to kill me,” Hermione moaned.

“Why?” Pansy said, eyes still closed. “She’s the one who suggested it.”

•••

Hermione burst into Daphne’s bedroom, startling her awake.

“You set me up!” she shrieked.

Daphne blinked at her. “What?” she said, rubbing her eyes and casting a look around her. “What time is it?”

“You set me up!” Hermione yelled again, and this time her voice broke on the last word. “How could you do that?”

She had been so happy. She had felt so free. So alive. But now … now she just felt used. Dirty.

But it all made sense. Why Daphne was so sure she’d be at the party. Why Daphne insisted on seeing her costume for the Ministry’s Masquerade Ball.

Daphne was still staring at her, a mixture of confusion and grogginess across her face.

“Why?” Hermione said to her. “Why would you do that? Were you trying to get me fired? Or maybe get everyone to laugh at me? Or …”

She trailed off, tears now stinging her eyes. She had trusted Daphne, thought she was her friend …

Daphne swung her legs out of bed and stood up. “What are you on about?” she said.

“You told Pansy what I would be wearing to the Ministry’s party!” Hermione said, struggling not to cry. “So she could shag me.”

“Yes,” Daphne said.

Hermione stared at her. Daphne still looked like she didn’t know half of what was happening.

“You were setting me up,” Hermione said.

Daphne’s eyes widened. It was almost like seeing an epiphany go through her mind. “Oh!” she said, and she started to shake her head. “No!”

“You didn’t set me up?”

“Not how you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking you told Pansy what I was wearing so she would know to shag me. And then you came up with this idea for a party so she could do it again.” Hermione paused, swiping a hand over her eyes as she felt tears start to fall. How could she have been so stupid? “I just don’t understand why,” she said, and hated herself for how broken she sounded.

“Why?” Daphne repeated.

“Yes, why!” Hermione said, and she heard her voice growing louder, shriller, even despite the tears. “What did I do to you that you wanted to hurt me?”

“No!” Daphne said. “You’ve got it all wrong. I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I was trying to let you have some fun with a girl who has a crush on you.”

Hermione blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Pansy Parkinson, who hated me at Hogwarts, has a crush on me?”

“Yes,” Daphne said.

“Well, I wouldn’t put it that way,” said another voice.

Hermione spun around. Pansy was standing in the doorway, one of Hermione’s old dressing gowns wrapped around her. Her hair was tousled, and she had makeup under her eyes.

She looked at Hermione and shrugged. “What can I say?” she said. “You’ve grown on me.”

“If you wanted to have sex with me,” Hermione said, and she had to take a deep breath to calm her anger and her hurt. “You could have asked.”

“Would you have said yes?”

“I would have laughed in your face.”

Pansy shrugged again. “I’ll go,” she said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought …”

“I wouldn’t find out?”

“That you’d know it was me.”

Hermione sighed. Her mind was still spinning. She was so angry, so upset, but yet they both looked so genuinely confused. 

They had both used her, both set her up, she knew that. She should be furious at them, and she was. She should hate them, and maybe she did a little. But at the same time, she couldn’t deny there had been a connection — there still was a connection — and Pansy hadn’t forced her to do anything she hadn’t wanted to do.

She didn’t know what to think. Part of her wanted to shut them out of her life completely, but what kind of life would she be going back to? Maybe she needed to understand — to make them see how they hurt her but forgive them all the same?

She shook her head. It was so much to take in, but she knew where to start. 

“Stay,” she said to Pansy, who had already turned to go. “For breakfast. I’m not done yelling at either one of you.”

Pansy turned back around. “And then?” she said.

“And then we’ll see.”

•••

Six months later, Pansy, Daphne and Hermione sat on the couch in their flat, looking around at their very newly crowded living room, full of boxes Pansy had yet to unpack.

“Just don’t forget to _muffliato_ your room,” Daphne said. “If I have to hear you two having sex one more time, I’m going to come in and join you.”

Hermione and Pansy grinned at each other over the top of Daphne’s head.

“I can live with that,” Pansy said. 

Hermione looked at the woman she loved, and then at the woman who had brought them together. It had taken her awhile to forgive them both for what they had done, but in the end, she had realized it had been because they had cared about her and because they wanted her to be happy that they had done it. It didn’t excuse it, but she could see past it. And she was glad she had, because they had both turned out to be some of the best things to ever happen to her.

It had been a long time since she had cried or needed a mask to cover the tears.

“Yeah,” she said now, looping an arm over Daphne’s shoulders, her fingers brushing against Pansy’s upper arm. “I can live with that too.”


End file.
